


When Life forces you to book an Escort

by TooSel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU where John magically doesn't have a limp, Also Harry's wedding somehow occurs after he returns from war, Dancing, M/M, escort AU, okay not Secret Diary of a Callgirl escort but rather dating escort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooSel/pseuds/TooSel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John needs a date for Harry's wedding. Sherlock works for an escort service (it's for a case). John finds himself enjoying the day a bit more than expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Life forces you to book an Escort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [larrysankles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larrysankles/gifts).



> English isn't my native language and I don't have a beta, so I'm sorry for any mistakes. Feel free to leave comments or concrit!

''Right, Harry, I just don't get why I can't come to your wedding without a date.“

John holds the phone away from his ear when Harry begins to go into perfect detail as to why he can't show up without someone, why it's unacceptable and disrespectful to her _and_ Clara, how it's going to ruin the entire wedding for her to know that he doesn't have someone by his side, _for god's sake, doesn't he feel any shame_ – he can't actually believe she's saying that, it's pretty rich coming from her -, and as she begins to cry dramatically he lets out a deep sigh and firmly interrupts her. 

''God, alright Harry, just calm down, I'm not trying to hurt you here-“

She continues to sob, making him want to throw the phone out of the window (and himself right after), but he pulls himself together and finally snaps, ''Fine! I'm going to find someone, just please, for God's sake Harry, stop crying!“

She sniffles into his ear a bit more but seems to calm down. When she speaks, her voice is suspiciously clear. ''So how are you gonna do it?“

John closes his eyes and begs for this whole thing to be over already. ''I don't know. I'm going to ask someone out.“

'' _John!_ “ Harry howls. He nearly drops the phone. ''The wedding is this weekend! You can't find someone so quickly, bloody hell, you haven't been able to get someone to go out with you since you came back from Afghanistan! For fuck's sake, just stop acting like a child and call the bloody number!“

He flinches and tightens his grip on the card in his hand. ''No, Harry- please, you can't be serious...“ he protests weakly but is quickly shut down by his sister's fury. ''I don't even know if I still have the number,“ he lies in one last attempt to get himself out of this affair and glances down at the card. Harry sounds like she's going to get a stroke.

''Fine!“ he cries out in the end, putting his head on the table. ''Alright, fine. I'm gonna do it, you win. I'll call the bloody number and I'm gonna show up at your wedding with a wonderful date. Are you happy now?“

''Very,“ says the content voice on the other end of the line and he bangs his head against the table once more.

When the phone call is over he sits for a few minutes, turning the card in his hand over and over until he has to admit that he knows the number written on it by heart. He sighs and mumbles to himself, ''I can't believe I'm doing this.“

He dials the number.

 

It's the day of the wedding, John's sitting in his living room, he still can't believe he's about to attend the event with a complete stranger and he's nervously fussing with his suit while he waits for said stranger to arrive. When the doorbell rings, he jumps out of his seat.

 _You're ridiculous_ , he tells himself. _It's just a bloody date. One evening. Maybe it'll be nice._

He huffs out a silent laugh and opens the door. When he sees the man in front of it, the sound sticks in his throat. For a second he's rendered speechless. The man is tall and lean, wrapped in a black suit and a gorgeous purple shirt, and his features are unlike any John's ever seen. His dark curls frame his angular face in the best possible way and his eyes – what kind of colour _is_ that? - scan John from top to bottom before boring into his.  
  
When John keeps staring without saying anything, the man quirks an eyebrow and asks in a surprisingly deep voice, ''Are you John Watson?“

John can just about hear the amusement in his tone. That shakes him out of his stupor. ''Yes, hi, sorry. Come in, please. So you're... my date?“ He feels stupid asking a question like that. He steps aside as the man comes in and looks around. John can't tell if he likes what he sees when he turns his gaze back to him.

''Yes, I am. The name's Sherlock Holmes.“

John nods and tries not to stare again. There's something about this man – Sherlock – he can't quite grasp. Maybe it's the way he looks at everything like he can see right through it. Or that he somehow manages to look about 12 and still have an air of masculinity that almost makes John dizzy. The voice doesn't help. It's been a while since he's been so attracted to someone. He hopes that Sherlock doesn't notice.

''So, Sherlock,“ he begins and feels his breath catch in his throat as Sherlock's eyes focus on him again. ''You were probably told what's happening tonight, but in case you weren't: we're going to my sister's wedding. She basically forced me to bring someone so... there we are.“

He huffs a nervous laugh and licks his lips as Sherlock drops his gaze all the way down John's body and then looks up again with a mischievous smile. He half expects him to say something, make a comment about his obvious nervousness, but Sherlock just offers him his arm and asks, ''Shall we go, then?“

John breathes in deeply, a strange feeling unfolding in his stomach. He blames the nerves. He shoots him a smile and takes his arm. ''Sure, let's go.“

 

The wedding ceremony goes better than expected. Harry bursts into tears in the middle of her vows and Clara joins her within a minute. John's eyes meet Sherlock's and they both look away instantly, barely holding back the giggling arising in their chests.

''We can't giggle,“ John shushs him, wiping his eyes, ''it's a wedding ceremony!“

Sherlock answers with a deep chuckle, but remains silent otherwise. John fights back the grin that spreads on his face and looks down. His gaze falls on Sherlock's hand, which is spread out on his thigh, his long and elegant fingers capturing John's attention for several moments. He suddenly realises how close their hands are. He imagines how Sherlock's hand would feel if he touched it, how his fingers would feel intertwined with his...

His hand twitches and he snaps out of the vision, feeling strangely hot and flustered.

He swallows and doesn't dare glance at his date. He can feel Sherlock's eyes linger on his face and has the bad feeling that he knows exactly what he's been thinking about. He spares himself the shame of confirming and stares stubbornly ahead while trying to focus on the wedding. He almost jumps out of his seat when Sherlock takes his hand and holds it.

John feels the blood rushing to his cheeks and looks at the man beside him. His hand shouldn't feel so wonderful but, bloody hell, it _does._  Sherlock leans into his personal space and mumbles, ''It's alright to take my hand, John. I'm your date, remember?“

John nods and smiles, still flushed. He tentatively starts to rub his thumb over Sherlock's pale skin. When the man doesn't withdraw but squeezes his fingers instead, he takes it as a good sign. So far, John thinks, the wedding's really going better than expected.

 

After the many guests surrounding Harry and Clara, John and Sherlock finally get to congratulate the beaming couple.

John hugs his sister and her wife and shoots a meaningful glance at Harry, who's checking Sherlock out from top to bottom after he kisses both her and Clara on the cheek. She winks at him and then raises her eyebrows when Sherlock casually slides his hand into John's as they turn to walk away. John feels himself blush and just grins at her. When Sherlock asks if he's hungry, he smiles and confirms, ''Starving.“

They take their seats at the front of the hall and John finds himself disappointed when Sherlock lets go of his hand as they wait for dinner. He looks at the man, who's firmly typing away on his phone. His gaze drops to his lips. And what a _gorgeous_ pair of those he has. John licks his own subconsciously, wondering if they'd feel soft against his. What would it be like, kissing Sherlock Holmes? He's barely talked to the man, but there's something about him that just gets to him. He suddenly regrets having met him this way. This evening is everything he'll get. And the hand holding and looking at each other is nice, but he's sure that, from Sherlock's side, it's all a facade.

He swallows and lowers his eyes to his hands. He only looks back up when Sherlock puts his phone down and lets his gaze linger on John.

''You're unhappy. What are you thinking about?“ he asks, looking at his face inquisitively. ''I was thinking it's about your sister's drinking, but she hasn't had a single drink today and you know it. She approves of me as your date, so that isn't the issue either. It's not that you have to be here, you dislike social gatherings of this size but you enjoyed yourself earlier, quite possibly because of my company. Your wound isn't acting up either, it itched during the ceremony but you don't feel it now. The music's nice, you like the song and it gives you hope that the music for the dancing later will be like this, as you're insecure about your waltzing skills – which you needn't be, by the way, I'm going to lead and I'm very good at it, too. So what is it?“

John stares at him. Sherlock seems to expect an answer, so he opens his mouth and closes it again. ''How could you possibly- no, nevermind. Actually, how did you know all this?“

Sherlock's (wonderful, gorgeous) lips curve into a smile as he sits back. ''Your sister's drinking is quite obvious. Her wife hasn't let her touch a single alcoholic drink, she looks concerned every time she's near the bar. Also the fact that you're cautious about upsetting her, as you complied with her wish of calling the escort service although you were clearly uncomfortable with it – were, not are, as it seems you're quite smitten with my charms by now.

"You dislike events with many attending guests as you can't keep an eye on everyone. Easy to gather from your military background and the way you glance around the room uncomfortably from time to time, though I'm not sure you're aware of said behaviour. Anyway, it decreased highly since the ceremony so it's not what you're worrying about. You kept touching your shoulder wound earlier but haven't done that for over two hours so the itch isn't acting up. You move your head slightly to the rhythm of the song, which obviously tells me that you like it. You were also looking at the dance floor, longingly at first, then concerned, so you're worried about the dancing and not being able to do it right. Did I get something wrong?“

Again, John gapes at him. He feels the overwhelming urge to throw himself at this bloody brilliant man, but instead says, ''That... was amazing.“

Sherlock raises his eyebrows, obviously surprised, and John feels a strange sort of pride to have put that look on his face. ''Do you think so?“

''Of course. That was bloody brilliant.“

Sherlock smiles and this time John knows it's an honest one. He wonders if many people get to see it. 

''Well, that's not what people usually say.''

''What do people usually say?''

''Piss off.''

At that, John bursts into giggles, quickly joined by Sherlock. John thinks it's a beautiful sound. Their laughter's interrupted by a waiter bringing them dinner.

As they eat, John begins to ask Sherlock about the other guests. He delivers deduction after deduction, and at the end of dinner John's certain that he's met a magician. Sherlock seems visibly relaxed after John hasn't told him to fuck off and John hopes that he's having a good time, too.

Soon their conversation drifts off to different topics. They talk about John's work, Afghanistan, why he left, Harry and their relationship, Sherlock's family (John can't help but laugh at his vivid description of an older brother called Mycroft) and Sherlock's work.

''So, escort service. How did that happen?“ John wants to know. ''No offense, but I can't imagine you being happy in this job. I mean, I gathered from today alone that you're not too fond of people, generally, and as an escort all you do is... be around people and pretend to like them?“

He sits back and hopes he didn't offend Sherlock, but he's only smirking, like there's a joke only he is getting. ''It's more of a... side job,'' he replies.

''Oh?'' John asks. ''So what do you-''

''Oh look, John, it's time to dance! May I?'' Sherlock interrupts smoothly with a sparkle in his eyes. John looks into them and refrains from asking again. Instead, he takes the hand Sherlock's holding out to him and follows him to the dance floor. Thankfully they're not the only couple, John thinks, glancing around.

Sherlock grabs him low at the waist -very low, actually, he's on his hips and _that_  catches John's attention. He looks up and sees Sherlock smirking and he can't help but laugh as they start to dance, closely pressed together. Really close. John could swear that the air suddenly becomes thicker.

He swallows and tries not to linger on the feeling of the warm weight on his hips, of the body pressed against him from top to bottom – really, isn't it unusual to dance this closely? He can't remember ever having done it like this before, but then again, thinking's quite hard in general right now -, tries not to linger on the beautiful face so close to his either. He fails miserably.

''John,'' Sherlock murmurs and the vibration _can't_ go straight through John's body like a lightning bolt, but it does, and when he looks up with a shiver, he's surprised to see an expression on Sherlock's face that somehow resembles what he feels right now.

''Sherlock, I-''

He doesn't know who started it, but suddenly they're kissing. It begins so gently, John feels those gorgeous lips against his own like a faint promise, a whisper, and then he urges forward and begins to move. He can feel his heart chatter in his chest when Sherlock responds immediately. He parts his lips slightly and begins to nip his lower lip, then takes it completely.

Their mouths work together in a rhythm none of them seems to pretend, it just happens naturally. Sherlock sighs inaudibly against his mouth. John sucks on the full lip and feels Sherlock's tongue dart out, taste his own lips, beg for entrance. So he opens his mouth and lets him in, and the sound Sherlock makes as John begins to play with his tongue – not so inaudible anymore – goes straight to his crotch.

He breaks the kiss and pulls Sherlock closer, breathing into his ear, ''I'm pretty sure you can feel it already but if we continue this, we need to get out of here.''

Sherlock chuckles and John feels dizzy. ''Let's finish this waltz first. Harry will be disappointed if you leave already and she's the reason we're here, after all.''

They keep on dancing, John's heart chattering in his chest like he's a teenager, and when the music stops, he's both relieved and sad to have to break apart. Sherlock looks like he feels the same. He's about to ask him what they'll do next when Sherlock's phone beeps. He gets it out and reads the text, breaking into a wide grin a second later.

''Oh, brilliant!''

''What is it?'' John asks curiously.

''Well, John, I need to inform you that I am no longer an escort. Sorry about that,'' Sherlock begins. When he sees John's face fall, he quickly continues. ''Oh, no, it's not like that. Look, when I say this is more of a side job, I mean that I did some undercover work in this company. The boss had some seriously illegal things going on behind closed doors. A case brought me to it. But DI Lestrade just informed me that they finally have all the evidence they need, so my work is done.''

''Hold on'', John says, looking puzzled. ''When you say undercover work and case, you mean..''

''I'm a detective,'' Sherlock states. ''A consulting detective. I work independently and with the police. I invented the job.''

John feels quite dumbstruck. He should have known, shouldn't he. ''So...'' he begins, then trails off. ''You're leaving now?'' he asks finally and hates how disappointed his voice sounds even to his own ears.

''God, no. I believe we were about to go somewhere, weren't we?'' he asks, smirking. ''I merely wanted to inform you that after this evening, my services are no longer available. However, that doesn't mean I'm opposed to seeing you again under different circumstances.''

John breaks into a grin as well. ''Oh, is that so.''

Sherlock takes a step closer, efficiently closing the gap between them. John's chest heaves rapidly with his sudden heavy breathing. He's absolutely sure that Sherlock is aware of it.

''You're a doctor, an army doctor, in fact,'' Sherlock says and somehow manages to make it sound like the sexiest thing on earth. ''I could use someone with your skills. Your _medical_ skills...'' He trails off as John quirks an eyebrow and smiles mischievously. ''Well, I'm not opposed to any other skills you may or may not have, either,'' he says and John chuckles. ''Anyway, what do you think? Do you like solving crimes?''

John steps closer, leaving no space at all between them, and kisses him without warning. Sherlock relaxes into the kiss immediately and John grabs his dark curls because damn, he's wanted to do that since he first laid eyes on this man. When they break apart, he smiles and murmurs, ''Why, do you have a vacancy?''

''As it happens, I do. You're looking for a flatshare?''

John starts laughing again. ''This is ridiculous," he mumbles after catching his breath. "We only just met today and we're already making out, looking at a flat together and solving crimes.''

''Glad you're enjoying it, too'', Sherlock remarks and takes his hand. ''So, what do you say? Lestrade says I can come in to question my now ex-boss right away, but I think we can spare a few minutes, don't you?''

''Oh, definitely,'' John breathes and follows as Sherlock leads him out of the hall. He has a feeling that things are going to be like this more often from now on and finds that he really doesn't mind at all.


End file.
